The Heart of the Matter
by sendintheclowns
Summary: Dean couldn’t kill Sam…that’s okay, Meg’s got it covered. Tag to BUaBS.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Dean couldn't kill Sam…that's okay, Meg's got it covered. Tag to BUaBS.

A/N: There have been many takes on what happened after this episode so thank you for giving this one a spin, too.

I was supposed to post this on 4/13/07 (self imposed deadline) because that was my six month anniversary for posting here. In that time I think I've learned a lot and met some nice people along the way.

Which leads me to...Faye Dartmouth. I can't thank her enough for her beta and ideas in general on this piece. And her support and friendship. It has meant a lot to me.

----------

The Heart of the Matter

Sam pulled the Impala into the gas station, hopped out, and started to pump. They'd been on the road since noon and the car needed to be fed. Dean probably needed to be fed, too, but he was conked out in the passenger seat, wrung out and full of painkillers.

They'd left Bobby's in a flurry as soon as Dean was awake, at his insistence, and Sam had followed his brother's command to 'just drive, dammit, I don't care where." Things had gone downhill fast after that. Dean had been grumpy, understandably so with a bullet riddled shoulder, but Sam had plied him with questions about his missing week. He'd been able to pry a few details out of his brother regarding his actions while possessed by Meg but then Dean had shut down from exhaustion or frustration, Sam wasn't sure which.

Now they were miles and hours from Bobby's and Sam wasn't sure what to do. He didn't think Dean was in any condition to be on the road yet but he didn't want to cross him. His brother, despite denying it, was royally pissed at Sam. And Sam understood why after Dean had shared a few morsels of information regarding his crime spree at the hands of Meg. He'd gone after Jo and Bobby and had succeeded in beating on Dean as well as shooting him. And then there was the dead hunter. Not to mention the tattoo on his arm that was burned away by Bobby's quick thinking actions. Who knew what else he had done while under Meg's influence.

While waiting for the gas guzzling car to have its fill, Sam glanced inside and surreptitiously watched his brother. Dean was propped against the passenger door with a deep frown marring his face. Sam could tell Dean was in significant pain and he knew he was the cause.

Sam's movements were jittery and uncoordinated as he put the pump back and headed inside to get some water and pay for the Impala's meal. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, just to get outside of himself, to get away. He had tried to wash away the feeling at Bobby's but out here on the road it was only getting worse. Guilt and remorse were nagging at him and he had pent up energy that he couldn't dispel.

Sam snagged some snacks in case Dean got hungry as well as a sports drink to replenish his brother's fluids before approaching the clerk at the cash register. Normally Sam talked to the people he met on the road. He made it a point to catalog their physical characteristics in his mind for future reference if needed, but found himself so caught up in his current miserable situation that he didn't take proper notice of the clerk until the kid was talking to him.

"Dude, that's so cool. Can I ask how much it cost you?" the lanky, dark haired youth with a pierced nose asked while gesturing toward Sam's left ear.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked. He had no idea what this kid was talking about but he just wanted to pay for his stuff and get back to his brother.

"The industrial piercing," the clerk replied pointing again to Sam's ear.

Sam threw money on the counter and asked where to find the restroom. He ignored the funny look the clerk was giving him as he scrambled to the back of the store to find out what the hell the clerk was talking about.

The lighting was crappy but Sam carefully set his purchases down on the sink and moved to the mirror. Pushing his hair back from his left ear he saw silver winking at him. A straight barbell was inserted through a hole in the upper ear cartilage next to his head leading into another on the other side of his ear.

_Meg. _Sam scrabbled at the piercing, removing it in such haste that he tore parts of his ear. He didn't feel any physical pain but was shocked and dismayed at further proof that he'd lost control over his own body for a week. He grabbed up some paper towels and dabbed at his ear. He needed to soak up the blood before returning to the car. There was no way in hell he would allow his brother to see what Meg had done to him. First a tattoo, and then a piercing.

----------

"Did you get lost or something?" Dean snapped as his brother slid into the driver's seat. He must have dozed off and had woken up alone and worried with Sam no where to be found.

That's how this whole thing had started in the first place. He'd let Sam out of his sight for a short while and Meg had sunk her claws into his brother. Dean knew Sam wasn't really responsible for the she demon's actions but it was still hard to look at his brother without imagining the hard slug to his jaw with the gun or the fiery pain of the bullet entering his shoulder.

"Christo," Dean made himself to say. He waited for a telltale flinch and was satisfied when Sam's only reaction was to wordlessly stare at his brother, looking a little like a kicked puppy.

Sam stared wistfully at Dean before holding out a bag. "Here's some Gatorade. I also bought you some Fritos and Ding Dongs," Sam said.

"Just put it on the floor. I'm not hungry now," he grumbled. As far as peace offerings went, it was pretty good but he wasn't in the mood to accept it. Not right now.

He quickly glanced at Sam. He wasn't ready to look Sam full in the face, to see all of the pain and confusion he felt certain was building in his little brother. A look of sadness replaced the look of hope on Sam's face and he forced himself to turn away.

He was cranky. He knew it but couldn't stop it. He was being too hard on his brother but his shoulder was killing him. He knew they needed to move away from the area as soon as possible -- before they attracted the unwanted attention of some revenge minded hunters.

----------

Sam expertly guided the Impala down the road and tried to avoid the bumps and potholes. Dean hadn't once demanded he pull over for a turn at the wheel. That, more than anything, told him the depth of his brother's pain. And Dean was hurting because of _his_ actions. It wasn't much but he tried to steer the car around obstacles so as not to aggravate Dean's injuries. Unfortunately it was a losing cause as the road was desperately in need of repair. Sam flinched as he heard Dean hiss after they hit a particularly deep hole.

"Dude, are you aiming for them on purpose or what's the deal?" Dean growled from the passenger seat. Sam glanced over at his brother and noticed the sickly pallor of Dean's skin. The interior was dark with the dashboard giving off just enough light to turn everything a ghastly green. But Sam knew Dean didn't just look sick because of the light. He was sick and injured. And it was all Sam's fault.

Sam felt pressure in his chest and it took him a moment to catch his breath. Great. It felt like the onset of a panic attack, which is the last thing they needed right now. Sam wanted to get Dean off the road so he could rest and recover. He wished again that they'd stayed longer at Bobby's.

Sam swerved to miss another pothole and heard Dean collide with the door. He flinched as he imagined the pain that would have caused Dean's shoulder. The shoulder Sam had put a bullet in. Not to mention the assortment of other bruises he had meted out to his older brother.

Sam clutched his chest and tried to relax. He began to breathe easier as he saw a Motel sign claiming there were vacancies. The Pine Tree Inn was waiting to welcome the Winchesters.

"I'll be right back," Sam quietly said as he exited the car and crossed toward the reservations office. Trying to be quick for Dean's sake, he had to pause for a moment as his head began to spin. This was not a good time. He needed to see to Dean before he had his little breakdown. With that resolution, he began across the parking lot as well as he could. He was weaving across the pavement but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

It looked like finding the motel was a stroke of good fortune because Sam didn't think he'd have been able to drive any further tonight. At least not without crashing the Impala. And if he thought Dean was upset with him now, imagine how he'd react if Sam damaged the car -- again.

Sam pulled himself together long enough to plunk down a credit card to rent a room for two days. He did a double take when he saw the name. Dean was cutting it close. James Paige? Fortunately the clerk wasn't a Led Zeppelin fan. Or maybe Sam was being paranoid.

Sam walked back to the car slowly, a dull ache blossoming across his chest. He dragged himself back across the parking lot, exhausted down to his toes. It was quite a come down. A couple of hours ago he'd been jittery, like he was going to burst out of his own skin.

He tried not to dwell on it but he wondered what else Meg had done with his body. He ached in places that shouldn't ache. The mere thought of what could have happened had him swallowing back nausea.

He couldn't think about it. He didn't want Dean to notice. Dean was his priority and he needed to concentrate on him. After all, it was Sam's fault that his brother was in such bad shape at the moment.

After all, he was the one who'd managed to get himself possessed. He didn't remember how or when, but the demon had totally gotten the drop on him. He knew better than that. And the things he'd done -- killing another hunter, menacing Jo, knocking out and then later shooting Dean -- it made his stomach burn. It made him want to curl up and cry. But he didn't have time for the self-flagellation and angst. He needed to look after his brother and somehow atone for his actions.

Sam's guilt hitched up another notch when closing the driver side door woke up a drowsing Dean. "Why did we stop?" Dean grumbled as he looked around and saw the sign for the Pine Tree Inn. "If you're tired, I could have taken over for awhile," he insisted as he stifled a yawn.

"You're exhausted…I just thought it was a good idea that we stop for the night," Sam explained. Dean set his jaw as if to argue and Sam hastily sought a more acceptable reason for getting off the road. "Besides, it's hard to see the potholes in the dark and I don't want them to damage the Impala."

"Damn straight," Dean agreed. Sam watched as his brother heaved himself out of the car and tried to work some kinks out of his muscles and rubbed his injured shoulder.

When Dean reached into the backseat to grab his bag, he was met with air as Sam snatched it up first. "I've got it Dean. Here's the key. Why don't you check out the room? Lucky number 7."

"Dude, I'm not made of glass. I can carry my own bag," Dean groused, accepting the key reluctantly.

"Dean, just humor me. Just this once. I'll grab our stuff and be right behind you," Sam said. He reached into the back seat to pull out another bag out and stifled a gasp. Maybe he'd pulled a chest muscle. Whatever it was it was getting extremely irritating.

Dean didn't notice anything was amiss and rolled his eyes before turning and heading for their room.

----------

The pain in Dean's shoulder was throbbing in sync with his heartbeat. He shouldn't have given Sam such a hard time about stopping because it felt good to be off the road. He couldn't wait to collapse on the bed and get some rest. Even if the bedspread was an offensive pea green color. He sunk down on the nearest bed and rubbed his shoulder some more. It was about time for a painkiller.

Dean glanced up as Sam came into the room, loaded down like a pack mule, shouldering the door shut as he brushed by it. Sam lowered their bags to the ground and then dug through the one that held their first aid kit. He rummaged around for a moment before withdrawing two bottles. "Tylenol or Darvocet?" Sam asked, exhaustion deepening his voice and making it husky.

"I think I'll go with what's behind door number two tonight," Dean said trying to lighten the mood a little. He wasn't ready to listen to one of Sam's angsty "I've been a bad boy" monologues. Deep down, he knew everything Sam had done was because of the female demon but it didn't stop him from feeling hurt and betrayed. It seemed like every time someone in his family was possessed, he was the one who suffered for it.

Couldn't Sam have dug down a little deeper and prevented that bitch from going after Dean? Their dad had managed to pull that off, if only for a while, but not Sam.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Sam silently got him a glass of water from the bathroom and handed him a pill. It unnerved him a little that his brother stood watching as Dean dutifully swallowed it down.

Dean couldn't help but notice that Sam was massaging his upper left arm. Nodding toward it he said, "I thought I was the one with a hurt shoulder," and then felt a moment of regret as he saw Sam wince.

He was trying not to call attention to his myriad of hurts. Despite his fears and frustration, he really wasn't trying to make Sam feel guilty. He knew he should be downplaying his own injuries because Sam had been a victim here, too. But Sam hadn't been shot in the shoulder by his own brother.

Sam deserved at least a little bit of a guilt trip here. He should have fought Meg harder.

Now that he'd brought it up he sat back and resigned himself to an onslaught of apologies. He just knew Sam would want to unburden himself.

He was shocked when Sam suddenly stopped rubbing his shoulder and self-consciously smiled, "Sorry, must be sympathy pain. I thought I'd run out and get us something. What are you in the mood for?"

"I'll take a tall redhead. No scratch that. Make that a tall brunette. And a beer," Dean teased with a twinkle in his eye. The Darvocet was starting to work and the pain was melting away. Now if only Sam would relax already. His neck was sore from looking up at his taller, younger brother.

"I meant something to eat. I passed a SubWay a few miles back. How about a sandwich and some chips? My treat?" Sam responded, seemingly oblivious to Dean's fantasy order.

"Fine. You're such a killjoy," Dean said as he sprawled out on the bed and made himself comfortable. Something was missing. Ah, yes, the remote. Before Dean could move Sam dropped it on the bed next to Dean's hand and sailed out the door.

Maybe letting Sammy wait on him hand and foot wasn't such a bad idea after all. Let his little brother stew a little. It was good for him.

Dean flipped through the channels but nothing held his attention. _I'll just close my eyes for a moment._

Dean was startled out of his nap as Sam let himself into their room. Sam pulled the small, round table over next to Dean's bed and deposited a bag and soda within Dean's reach.

"Where's yours?" Dean asked as he sat up and dug into the bag. His stomach was starting to grumble. It was past his feeding time.

Sam leaned against the wall and kicked his shoes off. Something was off about the way Sam reclined there for a moment but he couldn't put his finger on it. "I wasn't hungry. I'm going to hit the shower," Sam said as he grabbed up his bag and closed himself in the bathroom. A moment later, Dean heard the shower running. If he knew his brother, and he sometimes thought he knew Sammy better than he knew himself, he'd lay odds that Sam was crying his eyes out right now.

When he was an overwrought teenager, filled with hormones and easily upset, his crying fits always started in the shower. Sam always wanted to hide the emotion, but he never made it, and Dean could always tell. Dean, being the awesome big brother that he was, could never just let the kid suffer in silence. One word of encouragement was all it usually took before Sam would cave and share whatever had upset him with his brother.

So, he felt fairly certain that the dramatic storm would take place after Sam's shower. He knew Sam wouldn't be able to leave it alone. He'd need to apologize over and over and work himself into a state. Well, at least Dean would have a full stomach and the painkiller had dulled his throbbing shoulder. If he made some sympathetic noise and patted Sam on the shoulder then maybe he'd be able to get some rest without feeling like too much of a girl.

As Dean was finishing up his sandwich, the water cut off and a few moments later Sam emerged, squeaky clean, and in his sleepwear. His eyes weren't red but his skin was a little pale. Sam reached back into the first aid kit and swallowed down a couple of Tylenol.

"You gonna shower tonight?" Sam asked as he stifled a yawn. "I'd like to check your wound."

"Good idea. Did you leave me any hot water?" Dean tried to tease Sam again. In their teens the running gag had been that Sam must have been a girl because he used so much hot water.

The joke flew right over Sam's head as he seriously responded, "Plenty of hot water and the water pressure is good. I think we lucked out with this motel."

Dean shook his head as he stepped into the bathroom. He wished his brother would relax already.

To his credit, though, Sam hadn't been lying. The shower was excellent as far as motels went. It felt so good he stayed under the spray and let it further relax his muscles. When the hot water turned to lukewarm, he was forced to cut the water and dry off.

He pulled on his sweat pants but left his shirt off so that the wound could be dressed. He leaned toward the mirror and noted the deep bruising that streaked his torso, particularly his shoulder, but he didn't detect an infection. Jo had done a good job in getting the bullet out and stitching him up.

Dean opened the bathroom door and steam billowed out. Sam was leaning up against the headboard, massaging his chest, his face etched in misery. Dean wondered if Sam was building up to his emotional release now. It would be nice if he waited until after he dressed Dean's shoulder. The air felt cool against his overheated skin making him suppress a shiver.

Sam turned when Dean cleared his throat and pulled himself to his feet, snagging the first aid kit on his way toward Dean. He insisted on having Dean lay down so he could thoroughly inspect the wound.

"No infection…good…I'm going to add some Neosporin now…you might feel a little pull…there." Sam worked efficiently and methodically and soon Dean's shoulder was taped back up. Sam gently squeezed Dean's good shoulder as if in apology and Dean braced himself for the Sammy Special.

"I'm going to turn in now. Let me know if you need anything," Sam offered as he shuffled over to his bed. "Seriously. I don't want you to aggravate your injuries, so just tell me if you want something."

"What about your burn? I should take a look at it," Dean asked. Burns could hurt like a bitch but his brother didn't seem to have a problem with this one. He still couldn't believe that Bobby had realized the tattoo might be what was holding the female demon inside of Sam.

Hell, maybe the tattoo kept Sam from fighting his way out. He hadn't even considered that possibility.

"It's fine, thanks. Good night Dean," Sam replied. He tugged his long sleeve shirt down as it to better hide the area. Maybe out of sight, out of mind. Dean hoped it was working for his brother because he couldn't get the picture of Sam shooting him out of his mind.

"Yeah, sure. Night, Sammy," Dean said with an eyebrow stretched up in disbelief as he muted the volume on the TV. He was still a bit perplexed. He'd waited all evening for Sam to break and cry on his shoulder and then nothing. Sam was handling things far better than Dean at the moment.

Dean wasn't one to dwell on unpleasant things. In their line of work that would suck up too much time and energy. And he wasn't a fan of emotional scenes. He left that to his younger brother.

So he surprised himself by wishing Sam's veneer had a cracked a little. That would have given Dean an opening to shed some of the thoughts he'd been unable to shake.

He found himself wanting to tell Sammy how much he'd scared the crap out of him when he disappeared like that.

And how he'd known instinctively that Sam would never do the things Meg had made him do unless he was possessed.

And give him hell for letting Meg get the drop on him in the first place.

Lastly, he wanted to tell him he didn't think he could ever pull the trigger on him because he'd never give up on him.

Dean was disappointed that Sam hadn't come to him since it was obvious he needed to get something off his chest. And apparently Dean needed to as well.

But his brother was way too quiet and with Sammy that was never a good thing. And the way he kept rubbing his arm and chest…something was going on. Dean would get to the bottom of things in the morning when he had more energy.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Dean couldn't kill Sam...that's okay, Meg's got it covered. Tag to BUaBS.

A/N: I'd like to take a moment to thank pointofview, faye dartmouth and geminigrl11 for doing such a fabulous job with SFTCOL(AR)S. What a wonderful place you've created and generously shared with the rest of us.

And now, part two of three...

----------

The Heart of the Matter

Sam batted a hand forward to push off whatever was on his chest. It was hard to breath and there was a steady pressure in the region of his heart. When his hand met no resistance, he blinked his eyes open. He struggled to sit up, forcing himself to breathe through the pain, and looked around.

The salt around the perimeter of the room was in tact. Dean was sprawled on his bed and appeared to be in no distress, breathing deeply and evenly. The only thing out of place seemed to be the horrendous discomfort in his chest.

Feeling mildly nauseous, he threw his legs onto the floor and stood up bracing against the dizziness he knew would follow. He wasn't disappointed as his head began to spin and his stomach started to revolt. He moved quickly through the dark room, ricocheting off the wall before finding the bathroom door.

Just as soon as Sam reached the bathroom, the nausea started to abate. Sam splashed cold water on his face and tried to avoid looking in the mirror. He looked like hell. His skin had a lovely grayish tint to it and his eyes gave new meaning to the phrase blood shot. Maybe he had an infection from that crappy piercing. Or from the burned tattoo.

He braced his hands on the sink as he was pelted with another wave of dizziness. Although he'd just rinsed his face he could feel the clammy sweat beading on his forehead. God, he hoped he didn't wake Dean up. His brother needed his sleep in order to heal. Sam would just have to suck it up and wait it out.

----------

Dean was awakened by the sounds of gut wrenching vomiting. Good lord. The continual heaving was enough to make his own stomach feel sick.

He was a little disappointed. He'd been hoping Sam would step out and grab him some coffee. But it didn't sound like his brother would be mobile for quite a while.

Wait. Coffee. He smelled coffee. And donuts. He blinked himself more awake and turned toward the aroma. There, on the table next to the bed, was a steaming cup of coffee and a Krispy Kreme bag. Dean grinned, eager to devour his breakfast. The sound of retching continued and Dean scrunched his nose. With the racket in the bathroom, it would be hard to enjoy his breakfast. He'd better check on Sam.

"Sammy? You alive in there?" Dean asked as he tapped on the door. He was rewarded with the flush of the toilet and running water. A few minutes later Sam emerged, looking strung out and wasted, and tottered back to his bed.

"Don't get too close. I must have picked up a bug," Sam said as he began to massage his chest again.

"Dude, you're bleeding," Dean said as he stared at the blood that was slowly trickling out of Sam's nose.

He watched as Sam reached up and sluggishly wiped at it. Sam seemed mesmerized at the blood coating his fingers.

"Gross," Dean said as he pitched a box of Kleenex toward his brother. "You didn't have a vision, did you?" That would definitely account for the nausea, vomiting and nosebleed.

"No, just a little problem with my stomach. Forget about me, how are you feeling this morning?" Sam asked as he closely observed Dean.

His younger brother was starting to freak him out he was so attentive. Fetching him food, tending to his wound, not spilling his angst all over Dean…he wanted this Stepford Brother to leave. He wanted his slightly self absorbed, mildly melancholy, gangly geek of a brother returned. Pronto.

"The pain is manageable. Thanks for the caffeine. After I get some of this into my system we'll see about heading out again. That is if you're feeling up to it. I'd like to put some distance between us and any Meg surprises," Dean replied as he reached over and grabbed his coffee.

Sam flinched. Or perhaps a better description would be twitched. And the blood was flowing more freely from his nose. In fact, it wasn't too much of a stretch to say that Sam looked awful. As if he were the one who had been shot and left for dead. Dean shook that thought off as he started moving around the room, collecting his stuff.

----------

Dean had insisted on driving and Sam was feeling so lethargic he couldn't muster the effort to protest. He was pleased that Dean had some energy and the shoulder didn't seem to be hampering him at the moment. Although Sam knew he needed to stay vigilant because his brother tended to push himself. He didn't want Dean to develop an infection or other complications. For once he was going to take care of his brother.

If only the pressure in his chest would ease. At least the nosebleed had finally let up. He was sick of stuffing Kleenexes into his nostrils. And the metallic taste in his mouth was obnoxious. He tried to relax and let the beautiful, sunny day wash over him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean pop a cassette into the tape deck. AC/DC. Not Sam's favorite but he liked some of their stuff. He recognized the guitar on Thunderstruck. Angus Young might dress like a school boy but he sure could play. He leaned back and let the music wash over him.

_Went down the highway_

_Broke the limit, we hit the town_

_Went through to Texas, yeah Texas_

_And we had some fun_

Without warning the pressure in his chest increased and his head pounded. It literally felt like his head would split open. He was having a vision.

_Sam was standing at a bar with shots lined up in front of him, a girl on each arm. He reached forward and in time with the song started slamming back the drinks…_

_The scene changed to a dark, dingy room. Bodies writhed around him. He saw white lines in front of him on a table. He leaned forward and…_

He was going to be sick. This wasn't a vision. It was a memory.

"Dean! Pull over!" Sam gasped as he struggled to breathe. He endeavored to push the nausea back down.

The Impala was quickly on the side of the road and Sam was tumbling out, scrambling on all fours, to clear the car. He waited for his stomach to empty itself, braced on his arms, but nothing happened. Except his arms began to shake as they struggled to hold his weight. In a moment, he was collapsing onto the shoulder of the road.

He wanted to let Dean know he was okay. But the pain and pressure in his chest were so excruciating he couldn't ignore them. He couldn't speak past them. And then his body gave up its fight to retain consciousness and he blacked out.

----------

One minute they were cruising down the road and the next Sam was flopping around, begging Dean to pull the car over.

Dean was stunned as he watched Sam spill out of the car and crawl before collapsing on his face. It had to be a vision. Poor kid. Too bad this hadn't hit while Sam had been in bed this morning. He was going to be sporting some nasty bruises after introducing his face to the pavement like that.

Dean scrambled out of the car and made his way to Sam's side. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder to let his brother know he was there. He should be coming out of the vision any moment now.

Only Sam wasn't moving. Dean reached over and carefully flipped Sam onto his back, no easy feat with his shoulder out of commission. Sam was out for the count.

Dean reached forward and grabbed Sam's wrist. Staring at his watch he timed the beats. Thirty beats in fifteen seconds…that meant Sam's heart rate was in excess of 100 beats per minutes. Crap. Something was wrong.

Dean tried to leverage his good arm around Sam's chest and started tugging him back to the car. It wasn't pretty but he finally managed to stuff Sam's lanky frame into the passenger seat.

Sam looked more like something they would hunt than like a living person. His lips had a bluish tinge to them, which matched the deep circles under his eyes. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and noted his nail beds were blue as well.

Dean had noticed a sign for a hospital a while back on the highway. The nearest one was ten miles away and Dean lost no time in laying down rubber and heading for help. He kept his hand on Sam's wrist and took comfort from the speeding pulse. He'd pull over and commence CPR after calling 911 if necessary but he'd rather get Sam to the hospital for professional help. This wasn't something he could fix with Tylenol and bandages.

Dean's own heart was thundering. He might have lost his dad but he refused to lose his brother. Sam had to live.

----------

The pressure in Sam's chest was horrendous. He tried moving around to find a more comfortable position but his body wouldn't obey his commands.

He could hear Dean's voice in the distance but he couldn't make out what he was saying.

Pain called to Sam and he tumbled into the black yawning vortex.

----------

Dean pulled up so close to the ER entrance he gave new meaning to the term preferred parking. He sprinted into the waiting room and bellowed for help before running back to his brother.

Sam hadn't stirred yet he looked far from peaceful. His whole body looked tense. His face was set in a frown with the worry lines prominently standing out on his forehead. Dean set about tugging Sam's legs out of the car when he was gently pushed aside. The cavalry was here.

Dean followed the gurney into an exam room and watched as the staff hooked Sam up to monitors and got an IV started. His attention was momentarily pulled away as an insistent voice started asking him questions.

"Sir, how long has your friend been unconscious?" a steely voiced, matronly looking woman asked.

Dean rapidly thought over their most recent covers. "He's my cousin, Jamie. We were in the car and he asked me to pull over. He collapsed and he's been out for about fifteen minutes. His pulse was really fast," Dean concluded.

He wanted the staff to know this was his family but due to the increased interest in Dean and Sam Winchester, brothers, they needed to manufacture other stories. Sam was currently James Paige, Jamie for short, and Dean was Bob Plant.

"How long has he been a user?" the voice recalled his attention back to the conversation at hand.

Dean almost did a double take. Sam, a user? He had a two drink limit and sometimes that was too much. Sometimes he was crying in his second beer and ready for karaoke. Although he had gotten into the tequila recently. But that was an aberration. Sam was so straight he sometimes embarrassed Dean.

"He's clean!" Dean exclaimed with barely concealed hostility. What kind of Podunk hospital was this? His brother needed help and they were asking him stupid questions.

"Sir, it's critical we know what we're dealing with and you need to come clean with us. This boy has all the signs and symptoms of a bad detox experience and if we know what we're dealing with we can better treat him. You're not protecting him by lying to us," the ruthless nurse said.

"But he doesn't use," Dean started to say before he realized that Sam had been out of his sight for over a week. The gas station attendant had already confirmed some heavy drinking and smoking -- and who knows what Meg had done while in Sam's body.

His brother's comment after Meg was expelled from his body now made more sense. _What did I miss? _Sam had probably been stoned or worse for at least some of Meg's ride. And he had greeted Sam's exclamation with a punch.

Why hadn't this occurred to him before? He'd just assumed that Sam had lived through Meg's possession without any aftereffects. What colossal arrogance on his own part. He'd been so wrapped up in Sam, who was really Meg, abandoning him and everything else that he'd failed to see that Sam wasn't okay. What a royal screw up. He just hoped Sam wouldn't pay the price for his stupidity.

"Sir?" the nurse prompted him with more patience in her voice.

"We've always been so close, closer than most brothers. Jamie's parents died when he was young and he was raised by my dad. But my dad passed away recently and he hasn't been coping very well. He disappeared for about a week. Could he really have done so much damage to his body in that amount of time?" Dean spun his web as convincingly as he could. He knew he was doing Sam's reputation a disservice but if he was detuning then he needed help. Fast.

"We're running some tests now. Why don't you step out here and fill out some paper work and we'll let you know as soon as we know something. Don't worry, he's in good hands," she said as she steered Dean out into the waiting room and got him settled.

He didn't want to leave Sam. But this had happened on his watch so maybe he wasn't fit to look after his younger brother. He leaned forward and dropped his head down in grief. This couldn't be happening.

----------

Sam had something down his throat and it made him want to gag. He could hear muted whispers next to him but he was having trouble convincing his eyes to open.

The pressure in his chest was better but it still pained him. And he could feel things poking him in all sorts of uncomfortable places. Why didn't Dean get him out of here? Dean always took care of him.

If Sam concentrated carefully he could hear the voices. _electrocardiographic abnormalities…superior troponin levels…cocaine induced myocardial infarction._

Oh God. Were they talking about him? Where the hell was Dean?

Meg. What the hell had Meg done while in his body? And then he remembered. Sex with complete strangers, enough alcohol to stun his liver and snorting lines of cocaine until his nose bled. He wanted to curl up but he couldn't make his body obey him.

_Dean!_

----------

It had been two hours and Dean couldn't sit still any longer. He'd paced up to the front desk so many times that the clerk no longer looked up at him, she merely pointed back to the seats indicating that there wasn't any news and he needed to sit his ass down.

"Family of Jamie Paige?" a nurse called from the doorway. Dean's adrenaline kicked in and his pulse began to race. The nurse didn't look like she had good news. In fact she looked really cranky.

Dean identified himself as Jamie's cousin and the nurse told him to follow her to the third floor. She explained that she was taking Dean to his cousin and that the doctor would be there to explain everything. Dean nearly stumbled out of the elevator when he saw the sign indicating that the third floor housed the cardiac unit. Sam didn't have heart problems. Maybe they had him confused with someone else.

Nurse Crank was leading Dean past the nurses station and he couldn't help but hear the conversation between two younger, more lively, looking nurses. "He's really cute and he has a gorgeous body. But you can tell he's a total player," one of them said. "It's really a shame. He looks like he'd have everything going for him. Why would anyone abuse their body that way?" the other one sighed. Nurse Crank shot them the evil eye and their discussion died out as they busied themselves with paper work.

Dean felt sorry for whoever they'd been discussing. That was just cold. "Please forgive the nurses, they sometimes forget to engage their brains before they speak," the nurse escorting him said. Dean couldn't figure out why she was apologizing for the younger, gossiping nurses. Unless it was because she knew they were talking about Sam. But Sam wasn't a player and he took excellent care of his body. Something wasn't right.

The nurse, Cecilia, motioned for Dean to stop and went into an area marked Cardiac Telemetry. She returned with someone who looked to be of Indian descent. He introduced himself as Dr. Rao, cardiologist, and invited Dean to sit with him in a small waiting area before launching into an explanation of his 'cousin's' condition.

"Jamie suffered a myocardial infarction but his prognosis is quite positive," Dr. Rao said, pausing to allow his news to sink in a little. "He used cocaine, yes? We found evidence of it in his blood along with other drugs. Cocaine can cause the heart to beat so fast that it cannot get all the oxygen it needs. It also causes blood cells to stick together, forming clots that can lodge in narrowed blood vessels. Both effects can cause a myocardial infarction. Your cousin's heart attack seems to have been caused by the former but we're monitoring him closely and giving him anticoagulants to prevent another MI episode," the doctor explained gently.

Dean's mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish making bubbles as he sorted through his thoughts to explain Sam's condition. "But my cousin had never used cocaine before last week. This is crazy!" Dean exclaimed. The doctor was trying to tell him that his straight arrow brother had indulged in cocaine and had suffered a heart attack. He glared at the doctor.

"You must remember, people who are otherwise healthy can have a heart attack and die even if they use cocaine only once," the doctor instructed Dean carefully. "We were able to verify that Jamie suffered an MI and I'm recommending a cardiac catheterization to see what kind of damage was done to the heart. Your cousin is on a ventilator to stabilize his oxygen levels and isn't coherent enough to make the decision," the doctor explained.

As if pole axed, Dean sat motionless save for his blinking eyes. Sam was on a ventilator. What a nightmare.

"Does Jamie have parents?" Dr. Rao leaned forward and questioned Dean.

"They're both dead," Dean answered, rubbing his face tiredly. He wished to God that their parents were alive but thanks to the yellow eyed demon it was just Dean and Sam. And suddenly Dean was afraid he'd lose his baby brother.

"Siblings?" Dr. Rao pressed on looking for a family member who could take charge of his patient's medical decisions.

Dean shook his head no, adding, "I'm his only living family."

The doctor leaned forward and awkwardly patted Dean's knee. "Then I'd like your permission to move forward with this procedure."

Before Dean could respond the doctor pulled a beeper out of his pocket. "Please excuse me, I have to take this call," he explained as he stood up. "After the procedure I think we need to look at getting your cousin into an alcohol and drug rehab facility. He's managed to do quite a bit of damage for one so young and we need a way to curb these behaviors otherwise he will not live to see 30. The nurse can answer any of your questions," the doctor said leaving a stunned Dean in his wake.

Dean tilted his head back against the back of the chair and stared blindly at the ceiling. _A heart attack. What the hell. Maybe Meg had known all along what she was doing. When he refused to shoot Sam in the hotel room she took matters into her own hands and partied like there was no tomorrow. And now Sam was paying the price._

He heard someone clear their throat and looked over to find the formerly cranky nurse, Cecilia, with a compassionate rather than sour look on her face. "Come on. I'll take you in to see your cousin if you're ready."

Dean wasn't sure he was ready. How did you prepare yourself to see your little brother on a ventilator after suffering a heart attack at the age of 23?! He shakily climbed to his feet. His shoulder was throbbing but Sam needed him.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The Heart of the Matter

"Sam," he heard his name as if from a great distance and tried to open his eyes. He heard Dean. His brother would fix this. His brother always took care of him. If only he could tell Dean he was okay then maybe they'd take this tube out of his throat. But he couldn't talk with the tube taped down to his mouth. He couldn't even summon the strength to open his eyes. A tear leaked out of the corner of an eye as he strained in vain to let Dean know he was awake.

"Oh, Sammy," his brother whispered brokenly. He felt his left hand picked up and held gently in his brother's grasp. It was the first time since he'd woken up that he felt like someone cared if he lived or died. The staff seemed angry at him, very cold and impersonal. He couldn't blame them. They thought he did this to himself. Even if he could talk, they'd never believe what happened. He didn't believe what happened and he'd been there for at last some of it.

Meg, as he continued to think of the female demon, had started out slowly. Malt liquor beer and cigarettes were her training wheels. She moved on to bar hopping and slamming shots. Before long she had worked up to cocaine, pills and more alcohol. Her fantastic binge had culminated in killing a fellow hunter, terrorizing Jo and shooting Dean before heading off to finish Bobby. He remembered snippets of events but for the most part it was hazy.

Sam tried to focus but his concentration was starting to fade. He had heard some nurses talking about blood tests, and heart attacks and detoxing but it seemed strange that they were talking about him. He could count on one hand the numbers of times he had been drunk and he'd never tried other drugs. But that was before Meg got her hands on him. Just the thought of Meg's possession made him want to vomit. He weakly moaned.

A feeling of intense powerlessness shivered through his frame. He couldn't control his body, hooked up to a ventilator and drained of energy, and it reminded him further of the time he had endured with Meg.

"Shhh, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay," Dean's voice soothed next to his ear. And he believed it. His big brother would find a way to make it better. He had faith. He just wished he was more deserving.

----------

Dean watched his brother for any sign of wakefulness or distress.

The ventilator whooshed and swooshed and Sam's chest gentle rose and fell in rhythm.

Ventilators were serious business. There were lots of ways to downplay a fracture or concussion but intubation? That meant Sam was dependent on a machine to take care of him and that was Dean's job. He didn't trust a machine to protect Sam like he could.

Not that he'd done such a hot job of it this time.

His thoughts strayed to Sam's disappearance. At first he'd been pissed off, thinking that Sam had ditched him for some imagined slight. When Sam didn't contact him and he couldn't raise him on the phone, Dean knew he was in serious trouble. He'd accused his brother of being selfish time and time again but there was no way Sam would drop off the face of the earth without a word to Dean. Not now. Not since their dad had died.

Dean's hand strayed to a lock of hair that was hanging in his brother's face. He smoothed it the side and attempted to tuck it behind Sam's ears. If his little brother opened his eyes, Dean wanted to be the first thing Sammy saw. To know he watching out for him.

Dean's finger brushed what felt like a scab on Sam's ear and he found it disconcerting. He pushed Sam's hair gently to the side to expose the skin and saw dried blood. Leaning down, he saw two holes in Sam's ear. Sam didn't have an earring but that's what it looked like. Then again Sam didn't have a tattoo but sure as hell he'd had one on his forearm before Bobby had burned it off.

Earring, tattoo, smokes, drinking, cocaine…and now heart attack. Meg had a lot to account for when next they met. He'd make sure of it.

But first he needed to get Sam healthy. He continued to fiddle with Sam's hair, needing something to occupy his hands, as he watched his brother's chest gently move up and down.

----------

Sam hurt all over. His head, his arm, his chest…even his ear hurt.

He wanted to open his eyes but he couldn't marshal enough energy. But despite the pain he felt a certain amount of peace.

He wasn't alone. Someone was sitting with him. Dean was here with him.

A strange sensation tickled his ear. Dean was smoothing his hair down. He knew this should amuse him somehow, his big, macho brother touching his hair.

He wasn't amused. He was relaxed. Safe. Cared for. He hadn't felt like this since he'd lost his sanctuary. His Jess.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Sam felt himself relaxing, basking in the comfort his brother offered him. He didn't know how, but somehow he felt like it might be okay.

----------

Sam was resting comfortably, weaned off the ventilator, and Dean was anxiously waiting for him to wake up. He bounced his leg up and down impatiently as he sat next to his brother's bed.

Dr. Rao had talked to Dean while Sam was being settled in his room. The doctor had placed a long, narrow tube into a blood vessel in Sam's leg and guided it to his heart to check for possible coronary artery disease or muscle damage.

It was conclusive. The MI had caused pericarditis, an inflammation of the thin membrane surrounding the heart. Fortunately, Sam's heart was otherwise healthy and the condition would be treated by analgesics and anti inflammatory drugs. In a week or so he would be completely recovered from the pericarditis.

The long term prognosis was excellent. Dr. Rao was recommending the use of a daily anticoagulant such as aspirin. He also said his cousin would benefit from cardiac rehab but it was paramount to get him into an inpatient drug and alcohol rehab program otherwise he feared Jamie wouldn't be so lucky next time. Once this issue was addressed, and if his patient led a healthy lifestyle, he'd live a long life.

Dean vowed he would make sure his brother lived the healthiest of lives from this moment forward.

Sam was damned lucky that Meg hadn't killed him as Dean believed that had been her ultimate goal. And since she hadn't succeeded this time he felt certain she'd be back for another round. For some reason, she was no longer with her daddy demon's program and had gone rogue. Sam's life would be at risk until he could settle the score with Meg. Things seemed hopeless. When he'd first become aware of Sam's visions in Michigan, he'd promised Sam that everything would be okay and he'd failed him miserably.

Dean willed his brother to wake up. He needed to see for himself that Sam would be okay.

Sam was propped up against some pillows and for the first time since his collapse his color looked normal. No more blue lips or fingernails. There were shadows beneath his eyes and his lips were cracked and sore but Sam's heart would be okay. Dean needed it to keep beating.

Dean watched as his brother shifted on the bed. His face scrunched up as he struggled to open his eyes. Finally two, large, sad eyes peaked at him from beneath shaggy bangs.

"Hey sleeping beauty, it's about time," Dean teased his brother.

Sam didn't say anything at first.

He rubbed his eyes and then his chest.

"When can we leave?" his little brother asked groggily.

"Whoa. Slow down. You just woke up," Dean said as he grabbed a pitcher of water and poured a glass. He snagged a straw from the tray table and held it up wordlessly to Sam's mouth.

Sam sipped a little and then closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked closely at Dean. He surprised his brother with his next words, "How's your shoulder? Are you doing okay?"

"Screw my shoulder! Jesus, Sammy, you had a freakin' heart attack!" Dean exploded. All of the waiting and worrying had finally caught up with him and he couldn't keep from speaking sharply to his brother. But he took no satisfaction in seeing his brother jump or in watching him turn his head aside as if in shame.

A nurse bustled in to take Sam's vitals and the moment stretched on in silence between the brothers. Dean wanted to apologize for snapping at Sam but his brother wouldn't meet his eyes.

It wasn't Sam's fault he hadn't kept his promise. He hadn't prevented Meg from stealing him away. How could he save Sam from the yellow eyed demon if he couldn't save him from Meg-induced heart attacks?

---------

Sam tried to pay attention as the social worker droned on about his options. Dean sat quietly in the corner and wasn't making a sound. His whole attention was focused on the social worker.

First she pelted him with literature on how to recognize a heart attack. Classical symptoms of acute myocardial infarction included chest pain, shortness of breath, nausea, vomiting, palpitations, sweating, and anxiety or a feeling of impending doom. Sam had these symptoms etched into his brain. He'd experienced each and every one of them before ending up in the hospital.

Next came the pamphlets on alcohol and drug treatments. His face burned red. He couldn't look at the social worker. He couldn't look at his brother. He was so ashamed. How could he let Meg get the jump on him like that? And how could he have allowed himself, Meg or no Meg, to shoot Dean and beat on him?

Possession. It was such a tidy explanation. But he wasn't buying it. Their dad had been able to break through. Sam was obviously weak. The weak link in the Winchester family. Dean didn't deserve to have such a poor excuse for a brother. How could he SAVE Dean when he couldn't stop himself?

Sam let his attention wander. If he was really interested in doing right by Dean, he would leave him. But he was too weak because the mere thought of that had him breaking out in a sweat.

----------

Dean rolled his head across his shoulders. He needed to relax. He needed patience.

He tamped down, unsuccessfully, on his growing concern.

Sam was sitting on his bed, eyes downcast, rubbing his chest again. Every once in a while he would take his half closed fist and rub it lightly back and forth over his heart. He'd been doing it on and off since Dean had spirited him out of the hospital a week ago; Sam didn't need rehab for a non existent drug problem and he could see to his brother.

The first time he'd witnessed Sam rubbing his chest he had wanted to bundle his brother into the Impala and whisk him to the nearest ER. He still felt the same way. The only thing that prevented him from actually doing this was Sam.

Sam kept insisting that he was okay and that the only way Dean could take him to a hospital would be to hog tie him. Dean could have arranged that but instead settled on trying to figure out what was triggering the rub. The gesture sometimes happened out of the blue but at the moment Dean could probably pinpoint what had set his brother off.

It had started innocently enough. If he steered Sam toward a salad instead of a burger, he got flipped off. If he reminded Sam to take the 81 mg aspirin daily, his brother sighed deeply. He insisted on stopping every couple of hours while on the road so that Sam could stretch his legs to prevent a blood clot from forming (he'd found that out while surfing the net for information on heart attack survivors) and an eye roll was the thanks he received.

But Sam had really blown a gasket when someone had jostled him outside of a gas station and Dean had pummeled the poor man's face before he knew what hit him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? He just bumped into me?!" Sam had huffed from the passenger seat as they quickly pulled out into traffic.

"He shouldn't have touched you," Dean had said with an implacable air. He couldn't tell friend from enemy these days so if some idiot was falling into his brother he had to suspect the worse case scenario. And any one who messed with Sam was going down. There would be no more possessions on his watch.

The brothers rode in silence. Dean couldn't make himself feel bad about protecting his brother but he wanted to make peace. He just didn't want to say the wrong thing.

Sam sat rigidly in the passenger seat, eyes fixed straight ahead, arms crossed over his chest.

Silence reigned.

Dean finally pulled over and they settled into yet another anonymous motel room with a minimum of fuss.

He could see Sam stewing on his own bed, rubbing his chest, stubbornly remaining silent. Dean puttered around, checking weapons and the first aid kit. The distraction worked for a while but eventually he ran out of things to do and sank down onto his bed.

He could feel the heat of Sam's gaze on him and finally looked up, figuring he'd find his brother glaring at him. Instead he found a look of inexplicable hurt. Sam broke eye contact quickly and stared down at his hands.

"I'm sorry you think I overreacted. But I have to do what I think is best to protect you," Dean said in explanation. He normally wouldn't try to justify himself but he wanted to make the look of pain disappear from Sam's face.

"Dean…I don't think this is going to work," Sam said after another long, uncomfortable silence. He fidgeted on his bed before peering at Dean through his bangs.

"What are you talking about?" Dean said. He was trying to dial back the sense of unease that was filtering through him. _What wouldn't work?_

"You don't trust me. Hell, I'm not sure I trust myself," Sam said. He stood up and restlessly moved around the room. Dean tried to catch his eye but Sam seemed to look everywhere but at Dean.

"Dude, I trust you with my life. You know that," Dean said. He ran a hand impatiently through his hair. He wanted to shake Sam but didn't want him to clam up. He didn't think he was going to like what his brother had to say but they needed to deal with whatever was going on. Come hell or high water.

"I think I should leave. I think we'd both better off if I just disappeared," Sam blurted out. He looked into Dean's face with such sorrow it was hard to breathe.

He flinched at Sam's words and tried to draw a breath. He was doing everything he could to keep Sam safe. And now his brother wanted to leave him. Again. Or did he? "Is that what you want?" Dean asked.

"It's not about what I want. You're all that I have left. I can't be responsible for your death. You'd be better off away from me," Sam answered. He finally looked Dean in the eye while he was talking but then his gaze slid away.

"Is this about you being possessed? Because that's not your fault. You weren't in control," Dean stated. He wanted to bang his head against the wall. He was frustrated because his brother seemed to be slipping away.

Sam paced over to his bed and sat down so he was facing Dean. "Control? That's the point, Dean. I've completely lost control. And I can't take the chance that you'll be hurt or worse just because you're with me. Or by me," Sam said. He didn't even make a pretense of looking at Dean anymore. Instead he rubbed first his burned off tattoo and then his chest again.

"Sam, please," words failed Dean for a moment. He wanted to tell Sam how scared he had been when he'd collapsed and how he should have known that something was wrong. How he'd failed Sam, again. He had promised to keep Sam from going darkside and Meg had gotten to him despite Dean's vigilance. Yet Sam was concerned about hurting Dean.

Dean reached across to grasp Sam's hands firmly. To stop the ceaseless rubbing motion. Before he could say anything, words were suddenly spilling out of his brother's mouth. "I just…I should have fought her harder. Dad managed to," Sam admitted, his voice cracking with distress. "How can I stop the Demon when I can't even stop Meg?"

"Did you ever think that maybe the tattoo not only kept Meg locked into your body in case of an exorcism but kept you from throwing her out?" Dean asked.

He released Sam's hands and stood up only to sit next to his brother. "You need to quit beating yourself up about it," Dean insisted. His hand found its way to the back of Sam's neck and cupped it lightly.

Dean thought for a moment that Sam was finally going to let all of his emotions out but instead he seemed to swallow it back He breathed deeply in and out a few times, as if grappling with something, and then turned and looked at Dean in the eye. "I just feel like I'm a burden to you. And I need to be your partner, carry my own weight," Sam said.

Dean was lightheaded with relief. Sam didn't want to leave him. He'd been heartbroken when Sam had left for Stanford. And the stakes were even higher now. Something was going down with the yellow eyed demon and his brother was at the heart of it. But he needed Sam as much as his brother needed him.

"Well, that weight _is_ substantial," Dean finally said, tongue in cheek. "But we're in this together."

Sam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Tears were close to the surface but he was fighting them off.

A lop-sided smile won out over the tears and Sam slugged him in the thigh; he relished the pain. Things were evening out. Maybe getting back to normal. Winchester normal.

"Two against the world," Sam echoed. For the first time since Meg had hijacked Sam's body and taken it out for a wild time, Dean watched his brother's dimple appear.

Dean couldn't help but smile back. They would find a way to beat the yellow eyed demon and all of the other demonettes. But he liked their chances better when they were together.

Finis

----------

A/N: Thank you for reading my tag to Born Under a Bad Sign. I'd like to thank those people who left me a review but who I can't contact directly: LadyFFVic, bb1128, Spuffyshipper, SciFi Girl, tamara, shelby02, WaterBottlesRule and Megan – you really made my day!

I'd also like to thank Faye Dartmouth for all of her time and patience. She had a lot on her plate personally these last couple of weeks but still made time to pretty up my efforts.


End file.
